Sister Jude's Demons
by KateAHS93
Summary: Sister Jude drinks the communion wine and confides in Monsignor Howard. (Rated M for later chapters)
1. Chapter 1

**Based on episode 8- Unholy Night of AHS Asylum- Sister Jude drinks the communion wine after a bad memory rears its head, but Monsignor Timothy is on hand to offer some support. **

**This is my first published fanfic, and first AHS one ever, so I hope I did it justice because I'm totally in love with the show- particularly all the Jessica Lange elements. I'm hoping to add to this chapter but only if I have feedback if it's any good. Enjoy! (Rater M for later chapters.)**

_She_,_ like everyone else she had ever come across, had had her fair share of demons. Weak moments in her life that had forced her to unravel, forced her to discover her Achilles' Heel. Unfortunately for Sister Jude, her weak spots were not only known about by everyone around her, but they had driven her to such guilt, she had ran from them, left all traces of the life she had built for herself and became a nun in the hope of finding peace. She had always felt God somewhere in the background of her busy, distracted mind, but other than the odd, selfish, whimsical desire, had never asked anything from him. As a nun, she looked towards God for guidance and strength, and praised his love and patience when she managed to avoid those temptations and resist the urge to lose herself in a stiff drink. Similarly, she inwardly blamed God for his lack of interest in her, when the sting of cognac diving down her throat and coating the seriousness of her thoughts, was all that could fix the messes she had in front of her, or more troubling still, the messes that plagued her complex mind._

_While running an insane asylum might not have been how she dreamed her life would turn out, she was deeply grateful for the second chance God had offered her, in His house and under His care. But seeing God in every brick that made up the very building she resided in, day after day, year after year, did nothing but make her wary of herself. There was nowhere she could go where she could be her true, honest self and not be judged for her weaknesses and desires to sin. No matter how many years she confined herself to her tasks and responsibilities at Briarcliff, she would never forget the deep satisfaction of the sweet burn of alcohol, or the mess it had lead her to._

She glanced down to the desk where she spent her days, the usual paraphernalia piled next to the statue of Christ that resided on the corner. She absent-mindedly flicked her eyes to meet His and felt something warm momentarily run through her soul. She then continued her glance to the rest of the desk, but stopped in her tracks. She managed to catch her breath as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, as though a ghost had walked right through to her now cooling soul, and reached deep to capture a memory from her past, to make it a thing of the present. She slowly reached a slightly worn, shaking hand to a pair of small, cracked glasses, and groaned in horror into the room at the invisible monster that had left them there. She blinked at the tears that formed, subconsciously, and bubbled from her eyes. She blinked harder, testing her reality, but the glasses remained a solid form in her hand. She brought a hand to her head, as she swallowed, pushing back the next wave of tears. Flashbacks of music and perfume invaded her senses. Cigarettes and bourbon laced her tongue and her heart jumped, the same way it had done almost a decade before, at the crash of car bonnet against bones; the crash of Judy's happiness against the guilt that would be clung to her for the rest of her days. She reached her hand back out to the desk, and placed the tiny glasses lightly on the table, exactly where she had found them. Controlling the heavy breathing that made her habit dance against her moving chest, she slid her fingers across the desk to the communion wine that sat, tempting her. With soft actions, like those of a mother's delicate stroke against the cheek of her new-born, Jude caressed the bottle knowing the power and bliss it held inside. She closed her eyes to avoid the judging glares of God, and sighed at her own weaknesses as she wiped her tears, brought the bottle to her coral lips and drank.

The storm outside brewed viciously, circling the isolated asylum. As promised, Frank had gathered the patients who waited, confused, in the common room for Sister Jude's introduction to her distraction from the war outside. But with each lightening bolt, crash of thunder and whirl of wind that battered the old building and sent eerie whispers though its windows, the patients locked inside began to get restless and afraid. Frank stood strongly at the door making sure no one left, but that didn't stop them from hiding under tables or standing on top of chairs, preaching about the coming apocalypse. The Monsignor entered the common room to witness the chaos. "What is happening in here?" he asked Frank, horrified at the energy that pulsed through the patients' veins.

"Sister Jude had me gather them to watch an informative picture about Christ. She thought, you know, it would be a good distraction, given the storm, but she hasn't shown yet." The Monsignor sighed at the room and glanced over to the patients, one of whom, was beginning to throw himself against a wall with every earth-shattering clap of thunder. "Frank, play the picture, and for goodness sake, stop Mr Peters from climbing the walls. Try and get them in their seats. I shall go look for Sister Jude." Frank nodded in recognition and went about attempting to shout over the noise of the screaming patients, as Timothy quietly went exited the room and headed towards Jude's office.

As he reached the office door, he could see only a faint candle light illuminating the room, as it flickered monster-like abstract shadows through the glass panel in the door. He could hear a faint humming, a beautiful, delicate tune, but as he slowly opened the door to the office, he realised the room was empty. He followed the sweet sound to the door leading to Jude's bedroom. He knocked almost silently against the slightly ajar door, and the humming ceased immediately. There was a moment of silence and then a strong, but quiet voice muttered, "Come in."

As Monsignor Howard opened the door the sweet smell of wine filled his nostrils, and his eyes found the empty bottle resting next to the bed. Jude sat perched on the edge, tucking her hair under her wimple, to no avail. Blonde waves washed down either side of her slightly glowing face.

"Sister…" Timothy started, as he met Jude's eyes and saw her relax immediately at his presence.

"Monsignor," she smirked. "What an honour to have you in my bedroom." She rested on her palms and leant back slightly, crossing her legs.

"Well, Sister," the Monsignor stuttered. "The patients were in the common room, causing a disturbance due to the storm. Frank mentioned something about a picture?" He waited for a response from the Sister, but she just glanced, absent-mindedly at the room around her, and at the flickers of candlelight that emanated around the Monsignor's head, from the next room. She looked at the man standing there; his shapely form disguised under God's uniform, his chestnut eyes hidden behind thick lenses. "I instructed Frank to play the picture without your say so. I hope I didn't intrude on your process, Sister," he continued. Jude rolled her eyes and sighed into the darkness of the room. "Sister," the Monsignor furthered, stepping deeper into the room. "Forgive my brashness, but it appears that you have been toying with your addictions again." Jude looked up at the man before her, quivering in his boots at the potential wrath she could throw at him with her poisonous tongue. "Or rather, they have been toying with you," he finished. The Sister laughed and pulled off the wimple that barely covered he hair. "Jude, please."

"It's only hair, Timothy," she said, smiling and shaking her head, her loose waves perching on her shoulders.

"Still, it unnerves me to see you so." Sister Jude looked at the floor, no longer enlightened with the rare smile that kissed her lips, but burdened once more with the deep shame and embarrassment that came with the Monsignor's unintentionally cruel words. How she had longed for this man to bring her some relief to the sinful thoughts she had about him. In her dreams he had come to her, begging for her thighs around his bare waist, and the taste of her tongue against his. She scoffed at herself for thinking such incredulous thoughts, and then replaced her eyes on his, clearing the slate of her mind.

"What else unnerves you, Timothy?" A light smile reemerged on her face, as she lightly tapped the bed next to her, indicating him to sit. The Monsignor shuffled his feet before awkwardly perching alongside Jude, clasping his hands in front of him. Jude watched his every movement, catching what she could through his shadows and outlines, illuminated only by the distant moon, that glowed faintly though the window. Jude pulled slightly at the habit that wrapped around her ankles, freeing her bare skin to the air. Timothy glanced down and caught glimpse of the milky skin, glowing against the backdrop of her habit.

"Jude, I'll have you know, this is very irregular occurrence for me. In fact I think this is the first time I have ever sat on nun's bed." He laughed, quietly and awkwardly and Jude smiled at him, innocently. However, what she held inside herself when she looked at him was far from innocent, and she knew it. The fine lines around his eyes when he smiled at her, ignited the fear that she would always be this way; married to God forever, and forever in his possession- lonely and untouched. Those fine lines indicated years of emptiness, years of being unloved, years of lying in bed alone at night. Jude feared she would begin to look at all men the same way; vessels of missed opportunities and wasted time. Hourglasses that marked the decades of absent lovers and perhaps even a wasted life altogether.

In her slightly drunken haze, she reminisced inwardly of the happiest times in her life- times when she was free from the thumb of alcohol and was young enough to be admired as beautiful, but old enough to demand respect. Of course, even then, she struggled to remember if she was truly happy, or if she was caught up in the warm haze of Martinis and lipstick and large calloused hands that wrapped tightly around her waist, and lips that emitted heated kisses and nibbled on earlobes. Sister Jude remembered slipping out into the darkness at all hours, wearing nothing more than what the nuns at Briarcliff would regard as a negligée, and a string of pearls. Of course, it had been many years since the last time, but it still played like a constant reminder in Jude's head of the woman she used to be. She was thankful that the Lord had saved her from a life behind bars for the crimes she committed, but ached for one more night with her legs around a man, leaving her mouth like an animal left its scent, over his chest and groin. Each night, in prayer, she would talk to God about the sins that had diseased her mind during the day, and she found therapy in His stillness. And while she blushed at talking about fantasies starring orderlies she didn't even regard as attractive, she felt that God forgave her for divulging her thoughts to him, rather than acting on them. She wondered if sin was only acting sinful, or included thinking sinful thoughts. What about the thoughts she never even admitted having to herself? There were some thoughts too sinful and private to share with the great Lord, Himself. Ones like what she was imagining now, as she gazed at the Monsignor, emitting a light aroma of the thick red wine that had recently laced her tongue with a sweet tang.

"I would offer you a drink, Monsignor," Jude smiled. "But we're all out." The Monsignor rubbed his head, concerned.

"Jude, I fear you're letting your demons get a hold of you again," he said suddenly, turning and taking her slightly shaking hands into his warm, surprisingly smooth ones. Sister Jude looked up at Monsignor Howard, an expression of quiet happiness spread across her face. For the first time in a while, she could see the depths of the Monsignor's affections for her. Even if never in a romantic way, she always melted a little whenever Timothy revealed how he cared for his Sister of the Church. However, she brushed off his concern, taking her hand and tapping it lightly against his.

"Now, Timothy, don't start with your lectures. Not when there are so, so many other things to talk about."

"Jude, we can't just forget about our weaknesses when we feel we aren't strong enough to handle the guilt, but expect praise when we manage to overcome them. God is always watching, Sister. He knows everything you're doing to yourself and everything you're going through. He is there to help you though it."

"God has no idea what I'm doing to myself, or what I'm feeling, Timothy. And if He did, He would allow me some pain relief every once in a while, believe me," Jude scoffed, and pulled her hands away from the Monsignor's. He narrowed his eyes, seeing Sister Jude so troubled unnerved him. He knew little of her history, other than her battle with alcohol, but never questioned Jude about her past, as she was in a different time and place in her life now. He had wondered over the years, if Sister Jude's iron fist and cold shoulder had always been the way she treated the world and others around her, and every now and again, he would spy something in her that told him it wasn't so. He wondered how deeply Jude had been cut to regress and return to alcohol and question her faith in the darkest of torment she often found herself in.

"What happened for you to question the Lord, Sister? I know you have a history, somewhere, Jude. Everyone has their reasons for seeking the Church and Christ, I know I do. And I know you do to. What was Judy Martin like? I've often wondered." Jude scoffed again and the Monsignor's pitiful attempts to understand her complex and sinful life. She sighed, inwardly, wishing she had another bottle of wine at hand.

"You wouldn't like her," she whispered, her head lolling slightly. "She was a sinner, an ungodly woman. Impulsive, selfish."

"I find that hard to believe," Timothy interrupted. "You're a good person, Jude." Once again, Jude shrugged off the Monsignor's compliments. "Tell me about who you were before Briarcliff, Sister." Jude fidgeted uncomfortably at the edge of the bed.

"Surely you have better things to do with your time than listen to an old nun talk about her heyday?" Jude joked, but really she was rather touched by the Monsignor's sudden interest in her past. Over the decade that she had befriended and worked alongside Monsignor Howard, they had formed a relationship in their own right, without having to know the secrets that lay in each of their dark histories. But something must be changing, Jude mused, hoping that this soft spot she had found in him, in the middle of a dark, thunderous evening, inebriated and alone, in her bedroom at Briarcliff Manor, was the start of something much more than friendship.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Tell me about who you were before Briarcliff, Sister," Monsignor Howard pried. Jude ran her fingers, slowly through her hair, enjoying its freedom and the sweet scent of apples. She closed her eyes as her mind wandered and she started to remember all the things religion had made her forget.

"When I was 22, I fell in love. I wasn't a smart girl or rich, but Casey Richmond was a fine man. Ah, he was better than I could have hoped for. My mother used to tell me I'd done well and I was going to make it with him by my side. He was the son of a Pastor, so a man of God, yes. But he had some pretty morphed ideas about religion. Anyway, we got engaged, we got married, we lived together. We were so in love. For years we talked about children and having a family. It was all I wanted. Eventually, I tell him I'm ready to have a baby. Oh, I had my heart set on this child. He would be so loved and so beautiful. And he would help us be a family again.' Jude smiled at her memory but then lowered her voice. "I knew my husband was unhappy,' she admits, with eyes that gazed out at the moon. 'He was distant and no matter what I did, no matter how much I told him I loved him, no matter all the things we would try, he just... didn't want me anymore. I could tell." She swallowed away the lump that had grown in her throat. She had begun to interfere with emotions that had been safely locked away for many years. They were delicate and fragile and reacted in inexplicable ways. She hadn't thought about Casey in years and now here she was crying over their story. She continued her delve into her history with a vague smile on her face, but her eyes stared into the space in front of her, and not on anything in particular, as though she was watching it all play out in front of her. Timothy watched, saddened by the obvious pain the Sister was going through. "I became ill not long after that. My husband had infected me with his infidelity, and not only did he shame me, not only did he break my heart, ruin my marriage and make me suffer through the disease, but he rendered me childless. He took away my baby. He took what was going to make it all alright again." Jude closed her eyes and tightened her fist. She had never told anyone that story before, and wondered what it was that made her tell it to the Monsignor. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him, his face filled with pain and pity for the woman he had never understood. He put his hand on Jude's and his gaze into her eyes was stronger than she'd ever felt it.

"God has rewarded you for your misfortune and your sacrifices, Jude. You mustn't poison yourself because of someone else's inability to see what a spectacular woman you are. I can only imagine the wife you were. And only pity the man that risks losing you." The tears that slowly ran from Sister Jude's eyes were barely noticed. For she had gone to a place much deeper than mere tears. Her emotions ran so deeply she remained motionless for a second, staring into the Monsignor's eyes. There was a pain, a constant burning of unhappiness that cooked inside of her. Sometimes only a simmer, she could go about her day hardly remembering anything at all. Occasionally however, the angst would boil inside her, overwhelm her, and drain her so completely she turned from a woman of authority to the woman she used to be. The woman who would act on her impulses and feel an emotional rainbow inside her.

She remained slightly choked up by what Timothy had just said to her. For he had never said anything so direct, so honest and so lovely to her before. She felt his hand still on hers and wished with her heart that he could love her the way she loved him in that very moment. She hoped he would desire her and devour her and fulfill the bitter, angry void inside her with some kind of happiness. In those few short, silent seconds, Timothy couldn't have imagined what was taking place inside Judy's head. Every time they met she felt they shared a small, insignificant moment together, that she would nurse into an entire love affair. She was a smart enough woman to know that Monsignor Howard was far from interested in her as a lover; she knew the idea was preposterous. A man of God, and a man with control and a sense of purpose, he could hold himself, and probably hadn't ever had a sinful thought, Jude mused. Not like her unholy past and the indescretions she had brought with her into her present. She thought of their meetings as a prequel to an elaborate love affair. She secretly read into the smiles and compliments the Monsignor would offer her. She would make her own temperature rise with thoughts of what he was doing after their meetings. In her head he was concealing his sexual desires for Jude, he was tormented with the thought of sliding his hands up her habit, of unbuttoning her untouched bosom and feasting, like an animal, on her flesh. She would drive herself mad with yearning the feel of his hot breath against her neck, and even took pleasure in thinking of being his first.

Right now looking into his eyes, he had no idea what he was doing to her. He turned himself onto the bed slightly, facing Jude, his knee now where her naked body had spent nights writhing in the sweet bliss of self-made orgasm. The thought alone made her stomach twinge in the most delightful way. The alcohol that burned in her throat reminded her of her flimsy aspirations; the dreams of building castles that were burnt and replaced when alcohol tantalised her naturally berry stained lips. Jude knew this, and she also knew how little control she had over her body. The body that spoke its own language and danced its own dance. The soul of her fleshy shell appearing in a siren's form, Judy would gently sway her hips and dance, flash an ivory smile, and lure men away to seduce to the night of their lives. She had loved her body, especially when men had loved her body. She loved her flesh when there were hands furiously tickling and pinching every taut, desired inch of it. She was more content with herself when she knew she was pleasing someone else. Or she had been in her youth. She had tried to take care of her looks, but, as a nun, it was difficult. And inside of Briarcliff's walls, completely futile. She had looked in the mirror at her naked body and touched the places that felt lonely and unloved. The crannies that were neglected and had started to ever-so-slightly lose their elasticity. Her breasts, though still firm and beautiful, seemed wasted under a shapeless habit and her rear was seen, spoken or thought about by no one. Times had changed, and she accepted it. Jude knew she was now married to God, but even that couldn't have prevented her body from what it was made to do. An instrument all of its own, the shapely physique found its own rhythm, its own music, and passionately fought against its owner, over who would preside victorious. It longed for a man to glance at the perfect curve of her breast, or the gentle wave of her smooth hip. It craved, more than anything, the indescribable pleasure of being regarded and desired. For Jude had always needed a side of steamy temptation with every glass of wine.

"That's kind of you to say. Monsignor, but I've been no angel, and God knows it." She spoke quietly, but with certainty. She wiped the now drying tears from her cheeks and composed herself. "I'm being punished for those sins now, and I accept that."

The Monsignor's brow furrowed in confusion, "But surely, Sister, you don't blame yourself for your husband's straying? That isn't your sin to bear." Jude shook her head inwardly, knowing she was going to have to expose a part of herself that shamed her. She didn't want this young, respected man of God to see her as weak or unholy. But her body language confessed something to the Monsignor in itself. His concerned eyes remained fixed on Jude's, who was awkwardly cradling one hand in the other.

"When Casey left me I battled with a great depression. It took me many years to find God, Father. After wishing for death, drinking and finding comfort in whoever would offer it, God came to me and revealed His plan. It's true, I probably wouldn't be here now without Him." Sister Jude sighed at her own history, and her cheeks blushed with the burning alcohol and shame that now surged through her. The deepest secret of all, she thought, was the one she couldn't tell anyone. The one that tormented her night and day, but had suddenly come back to her in a solid form she could hold in her hands and remember the sheer reality of; a pair of broken glasses. She closed her eyes and shook the thought off.

"We have all sinned, Jude. But God has forgiven us, and we will spend the rest of our lives serving Him. He knows you're truly sorry for your indiscretions." Monsignor Howard had always had a slight affinity with Sister Jude. Although she was strict and sometimes overly harsh on herself and others around her, he knew her well and had spent many years working with her. He respected her but hadn't thought about the life the woman in front of him had lived through before becoming a woman of God. He didn't quite understand why she looked so forlorn and why she was tormented with such demons. But the Monsignor admired Jude's fighting spirit, and though he didn't understand having such a terrible crutch, he was inwardly proud of her when she resisted temptation, and more than a little concerned when she wasn't as strong to do so. Timothy put a hand on Sister Jude's shoulder as he watched gentle rings of salty water circle her eyes. Her eyebrows peaked, fighting against the surge of emotion that bubbled inside of her, as she looked into the Monsignor's dark, chocolate eyes, and detested herself for the niggle somewhere she would never find, somewhere in the heart of her, that was telling her to give into her desires. Instead she whimpered slightly, and dug her nails hard into the parchment coloured skin on her hand.

"I'm a different person now, Monsignor. I understand my sins. I pay for them." The Monsignor played gently, almost unnoticeably, with the very tips of Jude's blonde tresses, that glided down the back of her neck, to their resting place upon her shoulders. He was shortly fascinated with this thing he had seen so rarely. Hair, that everyone took for granted, but somehow, through his time in the Church, now seemed rare; almost sinful. And Jude's hair in particular changed the way he looked at her. While usually donning a floor-length habit, Jude's high forehead and gentle pussycat eyes seemed somehow intimidating. Her talcum powder skin seemed harsh against the deep shadow of her habit and wimple, which covered and hid away any sign of a life before the nunnery. But now, as he watched this cold, sometimes even plainly cruel, Sister fall apart, he saw something different in her. He saw a woman. A woman with warming hands and glowing cheeks that somehow lit her entire persona. He saw the innate interaction between a woman and her absent-minded touching of her hair. And it was different to him. The long fingers, that once caressed a microphone and a man's strong shoulders, now only held canes and rusty keys to a thousand doors. The hair that lit up her slightly dimming eyes, now only lost its colour, unappreciated and untouched, under a thick blanket of religion. The Monsignor could see the things that Jude had given up to become a part of the Church- something he had never thought about before, when looking at, what were to him, only chess pieces in the greater scheme of things. But thanks to Sister Jude he could now see the woman behind the nun and he wondered what it was that made her give up her lifestyle of the freedom she spoke about, to grow old behind the walls of Briarcliff, and the walls of religion.


End file.
